


Depart From Me

by Daegaer



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angels, Demons, Early Monarchic Period, Gen, Musicians, Saulide family, iron age Israel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 15:44:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20623532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley listen to music during an evening in Saul's house in Gibeah.





	Depart From Me

**Author's Note:**

> Follows on from [In Presence of My Foes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20578868)

It was always irritating when people ignored the good advice you gave them, Crowley thought. It was worse when they _took_ it and did better than you had ever meant them to do. The young musician had proved to be far more than an innocent lamb to be snapped up by the wolves of Saul's family. Instead he had quickly had them - and half the residents of Gibeah - wrapped round his nicely shaped fingers. Some of them more than others, Crowley thought sourly, looking at the king's eldest son.

The king's sons and cousin sat on cushions in Saul's private chamber. For men of war they were all looking a bit too peaceful, Crowley thought. Even Saul's cousin Abner looked like he could go a full evening without sticking a sword in someone's guts. Crowley leant against the wall watching David play the lyre. Very nice. Very tuneful. He could not, in fact, keep himself from tapping a foot in time until he realized Aziraphale was looking at him with a smug little smile. Saul sat on his heavy, carved chair – one of the few pieces of furniture in the room – and looked positively _peaceful_. It was infuriating. Crowley's instructions had been quite clear. _Drive the king of Israel mad_. And here the king of Israel was, sane and sober as a judge. Depending on the judge, of course. That Samson, what a complete pisshead.

"Nothing personal," Crowley said, "but when he stops playing, I'm whispering in Saul's ear again. You understand, Aziraphale, I've got a job to do."

"Oh, of course," Aziraphale said, stepping around the king's eldest son to come right up to Crowley. "But for the moment, just listen. He _is_ good, isn't he?"

"Mmm-hmm," Crowley said reluctantly. He'd always liked music and a good singing voice, that was his problem. He'd never been able to concentrate on the less savoury aspects of the job when there was a nice musical accompaniment, and David's playing made it _really_ hard to tempt Saul to despair. "You know that's not me, right?" he added, nodding at the way Jonathan was staring wide-eyed at David's every move. "That's purely human . . . stuff."

"Oh, leave them alone. They're young and adorable," Aziraphale said. "Goodness – just listen to that series of arpeggios. I wonder if the technique will catch on. It _was_ you who had Saul appoint him his personal armour bearer, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Crowley said gloomily. "I thought it would make less time for music. He just started singing little martial ditties as he polished Saul's greaves, and composing exquisite poetry about how many Philistines Saul and Jonathan had killed before breakfast. _And_ he turns out to be quite the warrior himself. Handy with a sword, handy with the lyre - he's a blessed Renaissance man."

"It's a bit early for that," Aziraphale said, sounding smugger than ever. "You could just give in and admit I've won, you know."

"Nonsense," Crowley said. "This isn't over –"

"Play the one about the shepherd," Jonathan said, smiling broadly and helplessly as David looked up at him through his eyelashes.

Crowley groaned. He really liked that tune; his tempting would be thrown off for _days_.

"Tell me again how you helped him with the end of this," Aziraphale whispered, just a _little_ maliciously.

As Crowley searched for the right combination of words to make his views on angelic sarcasm clear, he became aware that Saul and his relatives had gone very quiet, and that the sounds of the lyre strings were reverberating in his head in a rather odd way. Everything was so still, the light thickening, pouring from the lamps like gold –

"Crowley," Aziraphale said in a strained voice, "I think you should leave."

"Why?" he said, knowing quite well that curiosity was the downfall of demons as well as cats, but that right then he didn't particularly care. He watched the dust motes hang motionless in the light, now as thick and viscous as honey.

"Because I think the audience is greatly increasing and I have an overwhelming urge to unfurl my wings and fling them in front of my eyes in awe. Please, _please_ don't be here if that young man has attracted Attention."

Crowley blinked, quite slowly, and saw how Aziraphale was pale with worry. No. That was more blessed light gleaming under his skin. He blinked again, looked Up in horror, snapped out of his trance and ran. He didn't stop until he was hidden in an outbuilding, sitting at the bedside of a bondwoman who had given birth two days before. She was still so covered in mortal concerns that all the hosts of Heaven would look right past her. 

He sat there until the sun was far up in the sky, fretting. He'd allowed something of real interest to Heaven to get far too close to him and his plans. He'd have to be more careful around this David ben Jesse in future. Maybe, he thought, he should just solve the problem by getting rid of him. David was the king's armour bearer; he could persuade Saul to send him against the king's enemies. A violent and, more importantly, embarrassing death would warn other would-be musicians against getting good enough to attract Attention.

_That's it_, he thought, hearing again the strings of the lyre sounding within him, deep in the place where no Attention had been turned for eons, _I'll send him up against one of the Philistine champions._ Within a year no one would even remember the boy's name.

**Author's Note:**

> Psalm 6 - a Psalm of David, asking for healing
> 
> 2 Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am languishing;   
O Lord, heal me, for my bones are shaking with terror. 
> 
> 8 Depart from me, all you workers of evil,  
for the Lord has heard the sound of my weeping. 


End file.
